


Gray Eyes

by ShaggyMadi



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, But There is fluff too so don’t worry, Fanta bitch, M/M, Pat and Paul being worried dads, Refrenced Murder, Self Harm, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, There might be smut but I don’t know yet so let’s see, This is still better than the first one eh, What is a POV????, lots of references, more to be added as the story progresses - Freeform, oof, self hatred, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 17:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15272622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaggyMadi/pseuds/ShaggyMadi
Summary: NOTICE: THIS IS A REWRITE.Embracing the darkness around him was something Tord knew a lot about. Maybe at one point he had been able to keep all the thoughts at bay, but he doesn’t remember those times now. And when he’s finally given up on himself, someone unexpected may come along to convince him not to give up on others just yet.





	Gray Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So I reread this story because I was planning on continuing it and then realized how different my writing style is now. And I just plain hated how I was presenting the story and characters. So I decided to scrap everything and redo it! So here you go. The new and approved version is Gray Eyes!

Today had been quiet for the Red Army Base. Or at least it had been for its Leader. He had done barely anything today expect what he was doing now.

Sitting as his desk with his fingers drumming on the hard, polished wood of the large desk as his one visible silver eye stared ahead at the opposite wall, the other one being hidden behind a black eyepatch. His other visibly scarred hand held his chin in his palm and his posture was slouched over and heavy. The room was quiet, but his head sure wasn’t.

His mind wasn’t exactly vacant, it never really was. It continued to slip in and out of different thoughts, ideas and questions before running back to a empty thought again, like thinking back to a memory that didn’t mean much to him now. Like graduation or a party he went to. Or a boring meeting from last week. Sort of like a broken machine that only sometimes functioned. Like the McFlurry machines at McDonalds. Tord could use that analogy for a lot of things now that it was brought to his attention.

The thoughts ranged from future plans for the army, to that anime he’s been meaning to finish, to past mistakes, to his childhood, to his itching for a cigar, to self deprecating thoughts and back again. Big and small things flashed through his head that were so different it was like the ideas themselves came from a whole other person.

A part of Tord wanted Pat or Paul to walk in with a report of something, anything, happening so Tord would have something to stop. A internal rebellion or assassination attempt. Anything to get him out of his chair and having something other than random thoughts to keep him company. 

And another part of the norsky just wanted to stay here. Not moving or thinking too hard about anything. Just being here by himself. But it was usually a bad idea to leave himself alone with his thoughts. Things tended to spiral out of control due to...reasons.

Reasons being his increasing psychosis, bi polar disorder, anxiety, depression and just all around self destructive habits. 

Most people would take medication. Or go to a therapist. Or at least tell their closest friends and family about it. And the ones who didn’t got worse and ended up either in a mental hospital or killing them selves.

And based on what Tord knew about himself and his condition, he was headed down the second path. Especially since his resistance for it lowered nearly everyday.

Did Pat and Paul know? Probably. They had seen his old medical report when he was diagnosed with all this when he joined the army. It was a miracle they let him in. I guess someone saw potential in him. 

Tord hoped it wasn’t the General. Then he would have felt slightly bad about burying a bullet in his skull personally after taking most of the army with him.

Tord had learned a simple truth about trauma and how people reacted to the victims of it. You witness your father get killed? Oh you poor thing. Your mother beats you to a pulp? You didn’t deserve it. You kill someone because it was either you or them? Then you’re a monster.

Traumatic events are still traumatic events. Tord may be a war leader, who had a duty to kill in cold blood to survive and stay on top, but killing was always painful to some degree.

But in a way, Tord was grateful for the pain. It showed him he was human. Showed him he could still feel. That he wasn’t the monster that everyone insisted he was. 

And yet, he knew they were right.

It wasn’t exactly his actions that made him a monster. It was how he handled it. The path of destruction and pain he left in his wake and how he showed no sympathy.

And recently, he had done one of the worst things imaginable.

‘I. AM NOT. YOUR. FRIEND!’

‘But I thought we were...I thought we were friends!’

‘No! My everything’s!’

He betrayed them. 

Invited himself into their house and their lives. Tricked them and lied to them. Suddenly tried to kill one of them and laughed in their faces as he blew up their house and friend. It was a miracle Tom has survived with just that scratch. 

But Tord was glad he did. Even if it meant him suffering one of the worst injuries he had ever seen. 

Almost his entire left side burnt severely with several pieces of hot glass burying its way into the skin. It was the most excruciating pain Tord had ever felt physically, but it was near nothing compared to the emotional side of it afterwards.

His skin healed over itself and scarred, and the bases doctors worked day and night to keep Tord stable and his wounds uninfected, clean and bearable. 

It had taken 2 months of laying down as he healed and 4 more months of physical therapy before he could even walk again. But thanks to it he was able to keep his arm and left eye. The scars and burn marks on his face were still very noticeable. He had even lost a pit of his ear in the incident. But luckily his hearing hadn’t taken any permanent damage after the ringing faded from the explosion.

Some of the nerves in his shoulder and hand were damaged so it was hard to keep his arm up for long and get a good grip on things, and his left eyes vision was a bit cloudy. Like looking through dirty glass constantly. Luckily it hadn’t effected his shooting or overall sight and the doctors told him it would get better over time as long as he continued to get proper treatment and give his body time to heal itself.

And by that they meant Tord had to eat and sleep properly. Which he hadn’t done at all recently. 

The guilt and pain was eating away at him like acid in his heart and mind, making it harder to endure each day and night.

Tord used to hate sleep. It got in the way of productivity and he hated the feeling of waking up. Morning breath and a funky taste in your mouth, crust in your eyes that made it hurt to keep them fully open, messy and tangled hair that need to be cleaned and brushed throughly, baggy and messy clothes that needed to be changed out of, bright light peeking through the curtains and disturbing your slumber, and of course, if you had a meeting or something tiresome planned that day it made the morning ten times worse. And don’t even get him started on alarm clocks. 

But now Tord looked at sleep differently. He wanted to sleep all the time and always. Literally and theatrically. 

Sleep was escape. It was peaceful and quiet and so was his mind. And the moments when Tord first woke up, when he forgot who he was and where he was and what he’d done. When he didn’t know anything at all and was perfectly calm about it. When his head was quiet and not a single hateful thought could pour in as he soaked in the warmth of his soft blankets and firm pillows. Those moments were his favorite ones of the day.

And that night when he was laying in bed and his mind was slowly shutting down were the best moments of the night. 

But sleep had been escaping Tord more and more lately, causing his exhaustion to bring him near collapsing and dark circles to hang like curtains under his eyes. That is if the curtains said “Oh look at me! I’m a depressed piece of shit people! Have fun judging me!” that is.

Pat and Paul definitely noticed that and his rapid behavior change the past few months. 

Tord was and always has been a manic depressive. Even when he was younger he exhibited signs, but even more so as a adult.

His mania moods were spent running around the base and boasting, of exercising his authority and control over his soldiers. He would also talk excitedly and want to be the most productive or childish in those moods. He could be practically bouncing off the walls at one minute-

-and at the lowest point imaginable the next.

That brought him to the depressive moods. He’d shut himself away and refuse to speak to anyone unless it was extremely important. His silver eyes would seem dull to a deep gray and his lips curved in a constant frown. He might even drink during these times.

Heh. Drinking. He had actually become worse than Tom at one point. 

Tom.

Tord wondered what the blacked eyed male would think of him now. 

The drinking, the denying help, the suicidal feelings and guilt that dragged him down every waking minute.

Well, Tom had hated him before this, and he probably hated him ten times more now after all he had done. Even if Tom hadn’t blown up their house and tried to kill the Brit himself, Tord still disappeared for years without a single call, text, or email and then just showed up one day asking for his old room.

Which happened to be Toms at the time.

And the cherry on top of that sundae was that Tom had learned Tord was wanted as Red Leader and had only come back to collect his giant robot.

Tom didn’t even have to really be Tords friend to be pissed at all that. 

Tord hoped he was recovering well.

He was more worried about Edd.

Edd was the one who invited him in, who trusted him and welcomed him with open arms. And Tord had completely crushed him. 

They were best friends, practically family, for so long that it must have been so hard for Edd to believe what he saw. 

Watching his old friend and ex roommate try to kill his current friend and roommate with missiles and then try to fly away only to be harpooned and blown up.

And Matt.

He may have been a little absent minded and scatterbrained when Tord met him again, but the pain on his face was evident when the missile was launched and he thought Tom was dead.

The burning anger in his eyes when he messed with the control panel was enough to make even Tord falter. It definitely hurt worse than the punches.

And when Edd joined in, he looked so bitter and cynical it made Tord feel sick.

In truth, he hadn’t even meant to lose his temper at Tom like that. The gunshots were placed to scare him and nothing more.

But then...

‘Hey sunshine lollipops!’

Tord had lost the collected persona he had so carefully drilled into himself.

How dare Tom defy him like this. Did he think Tord was weak? Did he question his strength? Tord wasn’t weak and he would prove it. He’d prove it to everyone.

But in the end all he had done was make himself weaker than he already was and nearly die.

A small bitter smile strained on Tords lips.

They probably thought he was dead and gone by now. 

It’s a natural thing to think.

Afterall, Toms aim was pretty good and not many people are lucky enough to get caught in a massive and corrosive explosion like that and then survive the fall back down to earth.

And get medical attention in time and be back in commission in as little as 8 months.

Tords smile dropped again.

Why couldn’t Tom had aimed a little better? Just a bit more to the right and he wouldn’t have survived.

Why did Pat and Paul have to get there so fast? A few more minutes and he could have bled out right there on the cliff.

Or even better, why didn’t Tord just take that one final step to send himself falling over the edge before his most loyal soldiers had arrived?

Paul would have been made the new Leader, Tord would be forgotten, and everything would have been fine.

Better than fine. Tord would be dead and-

Tord groaned under his breath and slumped down in his chair slightly as the steady drum of his fingers finally halted.

There he went again, letting his mind wander rapid to every subject in his mind to visit and revisit it or tie it into other things.

He needed to stop thinking.

Tord reached into his drawer and pulled out a letter opener with a red handle. It was sharper than most letter openers really should be, but nothing too suspicious.

Tord had made it himself when he was tinkering as a way to indulge in his addictive habit without drawing too much attention to the object itself.

Just a letter opener that happened to be really sharp. No big deal for a war leader to have.

‘Thighs or arms...?’ He internally questioned.

If he wanted to use his thighs he would have to go into his bedroom or bathroom and he didn’t really feel like moving. Arm it was then.

Tord set the sharp blade on his desk and reached his scarred arm up to pull off one shoulder of his coat and then shrug the rest of it off so it fell around him on the chair. 

A scarred hand grabbed hold of the red handle and brought it up to examine it. 

Cigars, anime, hentai, drinking, and this. 

Those were his escapes and he craved different ones depending on how he felt or what he needed.

His gaze traveled to his arm, which he held up as well.

Scars littered this arm as well, but much differently. All along Tords wrist and forearm were varying ages of cuts. Some looked years old and were neat and faded. Others looked months old and frantically criss crossed over each other. But the newer ones were in lots of places on his arm, messy and crooked due to Tords unsteady and weak grip. Good thing Tord was right handed. 

And it didn’t require too much pressure to make a good cut if you held the knife right and had enough strength to hold a gun in that hand.

The horned male brought the blade to his wrist and applied light pressure, pausing for just a minute as his skin rippled with goosebumps against the cold metal.

With one quick slash, the skin gave away to the blades edge and blood began to dot across the open wound.

‘Not deep enough.’ Tord insisted as he put the letter opener back to his skin under the fresh cut and made another slash, slightly deeper than the first.

It never really hurt at first. The moment the cut was made, only a small sting of pain pricked in his arm. But it was overpowered by the overwhelming relief at seeing the blood and the deep desire to make more pour out his skin.

Tord was already making the third cut. These would be neater than the last sessions wounds. Even lines doing from his wrist down his forearm. He’d stop when he was satisfied. 

Blood from the first cut trickled down in lines to pass over the second one and mix with the forming dots of blood along the line.

A fourth one, the deepest one yet that had blood sliding down his arm in nearly a second.

‘It’s not enough.’ 

A fifth one. Now a sixth.

Edd. 

His comics that he had spent hours working on which were all nothing but ashes now. His passion for keeping photos and videos of all his friends and their adventures, all gone. All of his cola that he had adored so much were lost, and the money and time he spent collecting them all for nothing. How much he must be hurting right now because Tord couldn’t stay away and left them alone to their happiness. But Tord was poison, intoxicating and destroying everything he sunk his teeth into whether it was out of greed, impulse, mania, rage, jealously or even with pure intentions in mind. 

Tord was worse than nothing. He was something awful. Something that wanted to become everything, and would do anything to get that.

Tord has hurt Edd so badly and the green hoodied male was no doubt suffering the consequences of ever trusting Tord.

It’s all his fault.

Seventh. Eighth.

Matt.

His collection of priced mirrors that he spent hours looking into and feeding his own narcissism off of his reflection. They were all gone by now. His attic full of all his possessions that he spent years obtaining. They had brought him such joy when he found and collected them. Tord knew because Matt was talking about it on the way to the grocery store. He sounded so excited and happy to have Tord back, even if he couldn’t quite remember him all the way. Was Matt still able to be happy after nearly losing his friend and actually losing his house? Or has such a event made him his trusting nature and positive attitude?

If he did, that would be Tords fault. It was Tords fault he was so absent minded in the first place thanks to his own invention.

All his fault.

Ninth. Tenth. Eleventh.

Tom.

Save the best for last.

Tord has never been had too much worldly value on things. That was something Tom had always appreciated and admired about Tom. If he lost his flask, he just went and got a new one. If he lost his favorite hoodie or pair of jeans, he didn’t get to bummed about it and just dealt with it. But there was one thing Tom always clung to and loved that Tord has taken from him.

Susan.

His beloved bass that was probably buried under the rubble by now and broken to bits. Tom must have been torn up about losing his most prized and meaningful possession. Especially to someone he despised like Tord. 

Tom hated that Tord butted into their lives so suddenly. He barely endured Tord before he left the first time. Fights were constant and no one, not even Edd could make them get along. But if he were honest, Tord actually respected and maybe even admired Tom deep down. 

He had been through a lot and was really strong despite all of it. Not strong like Tord was. Tom didn’t show people he was strong by threatening them or hurting them. He was stronger than anyone with a gun. He was strong in the real way. The way that made him so much more different than Tord. And Tord had despised him for it for so long.

But he didn’t quite have the strength anymore and had accepted by now that Tom would always be better than him. Back then he thought getting Tom to be scared of him and surviving him when he was pissed off would work in making Tord the superior to him. But of course it didn’t.

The cynical drunken asshole would always be better in every possible way. And Tord couldn’t change that. He didn’t even hate Tom for it anymore. He couldn’t possibly.

But Tom hated him. What was going through his mind when he pulled that trigger? Did he even mean to kill Tord? It wasn’t like Tom to kill, but maybe he just hated Tord that much. 

How was Tom effected by this? Besides that nasty cut on his shoulder and his loss of Susan, was Tom effected by anything else? Did this hurt Tom as much as it hurt Edd and Matt? Whatever had happened to him would still be his fault.

This was all Tords fault.

Twelfth. Thirteenth.

He killed Jon too. Blew up the neighbors house and actually killed one of the bystanders. Tord was used to killing, but he never wanted to kill someone like Jon. Someone who did nothing wrong and wasn’t involved in the affairs of his neighbors. A innocent bystander who did nothing wrong. 

And Jon was just...such a sweet person. Kind and gentle and trusting more than anyone else in the world. For gods sake he made flower crowns and had even given one to Tord once. 

The sight of Eduardo, someone who acted like that hated Jon with a passion, crying over his bleeding body was heartbreaking. Tord could say his heart was completely cold, or that he didn’t have one. Or even that it was already broken.

But another thing Tord had taken from this experience, is that you can always hurt more. Always always always. You can always feel more pain that what you are currently feeling, despite what you’ve endured in the past.

Jon was dead. 

And that was all.

Tords.

Fault.

Fourtee-

Opps.

That one was meant to be even, but Tords hand slipped and caused it to overlap the thirteenth one.

Maybe Tord had gone a little bit too far this time. It was only meant to be a small reliever, not a full blown crazed frenzy-

No. Tord wasn’t crazy. 

The definition of crazy wasn’t by mental disorders, it was a by a complete loss of sanity.

And Tord still was sane. Fucked up? Yes. But he wasn’t completely crazy. This wasn’t crazy. It was just a addiction, like his cigars.

And plenty of people smoked cigars.

This was a coping mechanism and he had it under control. Everything was under control.

What a joke.

Tord was sick of the self reassurances, sick of the second guessing and mixed feelings, sick of the pain and tears and awful crushing feelings in his chest.

Pat has said something about closure once. Going back and seeing his old friends. Maybe apologizing.

Yeah right. What a great idea that was.

Tord couldn’t wait to see Matt start screaming. Or Edds shocked and painful expression. Or even better! Tom growling at him and slamming the door in his face. Or putting a harpoon in his chest. Maybe that last one wasn’t that bad in retrospect.

But Tom could be unpredictable, so he might just beat Tord up or call the police instead. Who knew?

Tord didn’t want to know. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t let Tom be the one to do it. He wouldn’t let his filthy blood stain anyone’s hands but his own.

Maybe he should just do it. 

Paul would run the army in his place perfectly. No one would really miss him. No one really needs him. And Tord would be able to go down to Hell where he belongs and that would be that.

But was there anime and hentai in Hell? Tord knew there was cigars of course, but would be still be able to see his wifius? He had no idea but he’d probably find out soon.

It was then that he was snapped out of his train of thought when he recognized a burning and itching sensation in his forearm and directed his attention to it. Most of the blood had clotted and begun to dry against his skin. 

And some of it had gotten on Tords desk. At least none of it got on his chair or clothes.

Tord sighed and stood up, walking around his desk and towards his room and connected bathroom. He’d take a shower while he was at it.

Shower thoughts were usually calmer, just more confusing.

-Small Time Skip-

Tord had taken a shower and cleaned his desk in less than a hour and he still had nothing to do expect contemplate what he thought about in the shower.

He had figured out that the last thing you say at the end of the year is “one” and the first thing you say at the beginning of the year is “happy”. That really shouldn’t mess with him as much as it did.

Also Tord had learned that if you say “whale oil beef hooked” really fast it sounds like you are saying “well I’ll be fucked” in a Irish accent and Tord has been muttering it under his breath repeatedly for longer than he could remember.

While he was changing into a clean red sweater and dress pants that he had to wear around the base he remembered something Tom said while drunk while he was putting his eyepatch back on.

Tom had decided to keep piss drunk on the Fourth of July once when Edd and Matt had thrown a House party for family and friends and the friends they brought along. It was a pretty small barbecue and Tord had spent most of it trying to socialize without seeming too psychotic and keeping a eye on Tom.

He had been surprised to see that Tom, despite his drunken state, was getting along really well with the others and had even gotten two girls numbers. When Tord asked how Tom was able to wow everyone when he couldn’t even do that while sober, Tom had given him a lopsided smile and slung a arm around him before saying he would slurring his “key to success” with him.

“If you can’t blow them away with your brilliance, baffle them with your bullshit.” Tord repeated under his breath as he ran a hand through his now dry and frizzy horns.

Tom had pretended to know all of what everyone was talking about, and just agreed with them. That was all it really took. That was pretty incredible to Tord how easy it was to trick people into liking you and thinking you’re amazing. And Tom had done it no effort at all, and while drunk! 

I guess that was just Tom. Set apart from the rest as always.

He had also started to think back to high school. When him, Tom, Edd and Matt were all struggling to get by due to personal problems, a overbearing school system and puberty. Tords parents were bad enough without his teachers bullshit.

School was different for all of them. 

It tested Edds patience and tolerance. Edd has always been good at handling people, but it hadn’t always been that way. There was a time when Edd had to restrain himself from snapping at every dumb teenager in the school about their bullshit.

It was high school. We ALL had bullshit and had to learn to accept each other and work on ourselves. Or we just hated each other to the end like Tom did. That worked too.

Edd had taken that to heart and was now one of the most tolerant people Tord knew, or at least he hoped Edd still was after the incident. There was always the chance that Edd had lost that quality thanks to Tord. But Tord didn’t want to jump into that rabbit hole of thoughts again or he’d end up making more cuts, and he didn’t want to when his skin was still burning like this about a hour after a session.

Anyways, Edd wasn’t always as tolerant as he was when he became a adult.

Tord would never forget the time he had to hold Edd back from throwing a chair at a group of guys and girls during lunch.

Every high school has THE group. The one of mixed girls and guys who were usually cheerleaders, jocks, or just rich and hitting their peaks way too young and end up looking like complete shit when they are older. They were always laughing and gossiping and obsessing over relationships and whatnot. This guy cheated on this girl and she’s salty about it oh no wait he just texted some girl who’s just a friend but then her friend found a dick pic ohhh drama and this girl wants to break up with his guy because hes a bad kisser or doesn’t please her in bed but puts it off because she doesn’t want to be single and blah blah blah blah.

Edd absolutely hated them and he hated that our table was right next to theirs and we couldn’t abandon it or we’d lose OUR table y’know? You can’t do that in high school. It’s practically a territory war with limited lunch tables in a crowded high school.

One time Edd must have been having a bad day because some blond and bitchy girl was talking about how another girl was a slut and gross and all this horrible stuff, but when she actually came to the table the blond girl had given her a hug and complimented her outfit like she was practically her best friend.

Edd had actually slammed his hands on the table, stood up, picked up his chair and started yelling at the girl to stop being so fake like her hair extensions and boob job that her daddy got her and get a life or something.

Long story short everyone had to drag Edd out of the lunch room and calm him down before going back, to which he found the girl gone. Probably crying in the bathroom because Edd struck a nerve.

Tord had never seen Edd like that again after high school. By college he could handle even the most infuriating people with a calm smile. Tord never understood how Edd did that.

It tested Matt’s memory and awareness. He always had a hard time remembering facts and paying attention in class. The teachers just talked out him and didn’t appeal to Matt’s specific needs. 

Edd and Tord put together study sessions to held Matt with his homework and study for tests. And soon that had spread to everyone teaching each other on their worst subjects. 

Tord taught Edd, Tom and Matt science because he was very good at it and no one else was. It was natural with him being a inventor, chemist and mechanical genius according to the teachers who didn’t hate him, who usually taught those subjects. He also helped them in P.E by teaching them stretches to keep from pulling muscles and ways to save endure in long runs. 

He also taught them how to kick butt in many of the games they played with strategies that sounded more like plans of attack, but helped them win in Friday games of dodgeball and basketball nonetheless. He knew a bit too much about this stuff thanks to his dad. But like hell he would thank him if they ever came face to face again.

Tom helped everyone learn to read music for band class and play instruments, but he could also offer some help in math since he seemed to have a natural understanding for it and adapted to new subjects faster than the others. 

Tord would sometimes pretend he didn’t understand how the song sounded so Tom would take out his base and play it for him, or even sing him a few notes. Once Tom had gotten comfortable enough to share his talent with the group, Tord had always been finding ways to hear more. He wasn’t sure why, but when him and Tom weren’t fighting over something stupid, Tord wanted to hear Tom play and sing. It was borderline enchanting and 

Tord had many memories of listening to the faint and soft chords and melodious voice through the wall of his room. It’s why when rooms were being picked Tord has insisted on being in the room beside Toms, or rejecting Edds proposal to go out to eat or catch a movie with him and Matt when Tom wasn’t going. It was because Tom usually sang around that time. 

Tord may have hated Thomas’s guts, but he loved his voice.

Edd was very good at reading and writing. His stories could turn into novels and his talent in literature was breathtaking. He helped everyone come up with ideas for stories and gave tips and advice for making stories. He also helped with reading comprehension work and recommended books to the others that he thought they would like. Trips to the library with Edd were common and he was almost always finding them new books that had them all hooked in seconds. 

Matt wasn’t really good at any core subject, but he was really good at a class they were all forced to take called “Skills For Living”. They were forced to learn how to sew, cook, manage money, pass job interviews, talk to others properly, change a tire, call 911 properly, learn first aid, and practice CPR. Basically just several life skills that not many of them were good at.

Edd was a decent cook, Tord was good at CPR and First Aid, and Tom had a steady hand for sewing, but they were all bad at everything else. Luckily that is where Matt succeeded and surpassed.

His people skills were incredible and his natural charisma was through the roof, so naturally he was able to learn easily about manners and etiquette like it was secondhand nature. He was pretty good with most of the other stuff and was able to help Tord, Tom and Edd with it on less stressful and busy days. 

He was also really good at cleaning and had a odd and uncanny obsession with brooms for some reason. No one really knew what it was but they were actually afraid to question it or some between it, so they just left him and his brooms be.

They all supported on each other through high school in the end. In more ways than one, but that was a shower thought for another day.

School basically tested Toms ability to keep himself from slapping a bitch. Usually that bitch was Tord, but plenty of people tested Toms self control without them knowing him personally. 

Tom was constantly getting into fights that Tord was either a part of, made a part of, or had to drag Toms ass out of it and behind the school while Matt ran with the emergency first aid kit he kept in his locker so he could treat his wounds.

Tom rarely ever voiced his gratitude, but at least he stayed still so Tord could finish and get him back to class. Then after school he would be chewed out by Edd while Tom defended himself by saying “the bastard deserved it!” Or the oh so cliche “he started it!”.

And if the fight was between Tord and Tom, they would usually have to face both his wrath and clean each other’s wounds to the best of their ability with what Matt taught them about first aid. Very reluctantly might he add. 

Edd would find out whether they told him or not, because he always had a second sense for that kind of stuff. It must have been written all over their faces to Edd.

That and the injuries were a dead giveaway.

Tord and Toms fights were fast, brutal and then they were over as quickly as they started and never spoke of again. Unless one of them won.

Tom, having a bigger build and being taller than Tord, usually won. 

But Tord had good experience with fighting, so even he got the upper hand from time to time.

In verbal fights it was a fifty/fifty Chance on either side.

When one of them did win, they tended to bring it up to each other and that would usually win to a whole new argument or fight.

Those were the times.

As for Tord? Well school usually just tested his will to live. 

And of course his bladder resistance. Teachers never let the bad students go to the bathroom huh?

Tord was always testing the teachers. Constantly.

In little ways he would agitate them to the point where they would leave him alone and he could do what he wanted as long as he turned in his homework, showed up, and did the tests at least halfway through.

But they never let him go to the bathroom so he spent many classes holding it in and waiting for the bell to set him free and then running down to the hall as he tried to avoid letting the fountain leak.

He was only special to his science and P.E teachers, and everyone else hated him. 

Maybe high school was whenever he started becoming suicidal but he wasn’t sure-

There was a knock on the door that directed Tords attention.

Welp. That’s all for now folks. 

Tord walked to the door without much hesitance and pressed the button to unlock and open it, revealing Patrick to be standing there.

“Red Lead-“

“Tord.” He reminded.

He appreciated Patrick’s soldier attitude, but he preferred to be referred to as a friend when he was alone with Pat and Paul.

Afterall, they were all he had left.

Patrick looked a bit regretful at his mistake and nodded.

“Of course. I’m sorry Tord. I didn’t mean-“

“Don’t worry about it.” Tord cut him off again.

Patrick and Paul talked to Tord like they were walking on thin glass, afraid to set off a panic attack or mood swing by saying the wrong thing. It was out of worry for him of course. 

Tord wasn’t sure why they really cared anymore or tried for him. It didn’t make much sense.

Patrick gave him a look. A familiar but not welcome one.

He was trying to read Tords mood. Trying to read him based on his expression and attitude. Tord hated when they did that, but he was quiet about his discomfort and let Patrick come to a conclusion on how he should treat Tord.

“Are you okay?” He asked in a worried tone but serious and almost demanding as he leaned against the doorway, as if blocking he means of escape. He was looking Tord dead in the eyes.

Show time.

Tord gave a slow nod and softened his expression slightly so he looked less tired and upset.

“Yeah I’m fine today. Do you need something?” He said, trying to change the subject.

Patrick at first seemed to take the bait but then he was leaning on the door more and fixing Tord with a look that blantly told him what he was about to say wasn’t up for discussion.

“You need to stop this.” 

This? Which habit was Patrick talking about this time? Drinking? Lack of sleep? Wait did they find out about his self Harm? Or were they trying to get him on meds again? Fuck not again-

“Stop what?” He asked, his tone radiating skepticism and his visible eyebrow raising slightly in a almost comedic or theatrical way.

“Everything Tord. You get worse by the day and me and Paul can see you slipping, but you push us away. No more of that.” He fired back, his tone hard and honest, but not cold.

Tord sighed softly and his gaze traveled away from Patrick’s and towards the wall to his side where a messy blueprint of a defense system Tord was working on was mounted with metal tacks.

“And what provoked you to make such a revelation today?”

“Because me and Paul found blood on the wrists of your dress shirt yesterday. Show me your arms.”

Tords eyes widened and he felt his heart skip a beat. The blood drained from his face and his hands twitched involuntarily. Did he ask to...?

No Tord had thought about this before and how he would behave. He would calmly and rationally explain that he had it under control, while also not letting Patrick see his arm at all costs.

But the overwhelming emotion was causing him to panic and lose all sense of logic and reason. His heart was just telling him to throw a chair out a window and then make a break for it.

Patrick could probably see that Tord was about to yeet himself out a window because he reached down and put a gentle but firm hand on Tords shoulder.

Maybe this could be interpreted as a comforting gesture, but it was also to keep Tord from running away.

Tord flinched at the contact and almost squirmed away before realizing his feet were planted on the ground and not obeying him. He felt frozen.

“Tord...Just show me...Come on bud...” Patrick spoke slowly as to help his words sink in better.

Tord gulped and remained silent, his gaze flickering everywhere but Patrick for means of escape. At seeing this, Patrick’s grip tightened slightly, almost like a warning.

Tords heart pounded in his rib cage and his tongue felt like it was filling up his mouth. His throat was so dry and his hands were trembling. This couldn’t be happening-

That was enough for Patrick apparently.

“Your reaction is proof enough Tord. We’re gonna go get Paul and then we’re packing.”

“Pat-“

Patrick was already leading Tord out of his office by his shoulder, pulling him to his side and holding them there in case he tried to run.

Tord trusted Patrick, but he was scared of what he meant by packing. Were they...?

“No Tord we aren’t kicking you out of the base.” Patrick reassured firmly as they walked.

Oh. So then...?

“Why are we p-packing then?”

“We’re going on vacation and getting you closure and help.”

“C-Closure? What-“

“First we are going to go into town and get a apartment. Then we are going to settle in and get you a discreet therapist and medication. And then-“

Patrick turned his face to look at Tord when he said the next part, his face serious and eyes challenging Tord to argue.

“You’re going to find and apologize to your old friends.”

 

———————————————————

 

Tord back thought to the trauma victim thing.

Best friend betrayed you and turned out to be a terrorist and war leader for all the years he was gone? You didn’t deserve that. We’re all here for you.

Friend you barely remember comes back and blows up your house and nearly kills your friend before actually killing your neighbor? What a poor soul! Do you want a cookie dear?

Ex roommate you despise with every fiber of your being suddenly shows up and drives you out of the house? Then you see their wanted poster and run back to confront them but when you do they suddenly ascend into a giant robot and nearly kills you twice? What a tragic memory. Everyone’s glad you’re okay.

But when you’re the one who did all those things, the pain, guilt and misery you feel from these actions and it’s consequences are canceled out.

Your pain only matters if you are a victim.

If you are the one who caused the pain, it doesn’t matter how much of it you feel.

If you do something evil, you are evil. 

You’re a monster.

And afterall, monsters don’t have feelings right?

Tord knew firsthand that everyone regrets and hurts who have done bad.

Even monsters.

**Author's Note:**

> I made this all over the course of 10 or so hours so I hope it’s okay for the first chapter! I’m kinda taking a route with Tords character that most people don’t take so I hope my story is more original than most at least. Tell me what you think in the comments and as always thank you for reading and stay tuned for the second chapter! Stay Shaggy everyone and drink Fanta like your life depends on it like I do! (Actually don’t that’s a lot of sugar-)


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